Marco gritted his teeth, his face pale from pain. Moving his hand, he grabbed the arrow shaft and yanked it out of his shoulder—"Hiss?!”

  Blood spurted out of the wound, splattering on the ground like an erupting volcano. More gushed out, crawling down his skin like crimson vines before his palm plugged the wound on the front of his shoulder.

  While blood kept spluttering out of his back, his hand glew a mellow green, and the bleeding gradually stopped.

  Zethir cursed, turning to look at the arrow's direction. “We've been found, hurry up!” He yelled, grabbing Augustin by the shoulder and dashing off.

  “Wait—carry Marco instead! He's injured!” Augustin cried out, looking behind them.

  “He's fine,” Zethir said, tensing up his thighs and running a little bit faster.

  Behind, Marco stood up shakily, before running after the two. To Augustin's surprise, he wasn't any slower than Zethir, who was running so fast that his cloak was fluttering like butterfly wings.

  “I'm fine,” Marco smiled, seeing Augustin's worry. “People who become elites aren't the same as ordinary humans. You'll understand when you reach our level,” he said.

  Hearing this, Augustin looked at the wound on Marco's shoulder. The iron chestplate he was wearing did nothing against the arrow. The only thing it did was show where Marco was hit. What's more, the blood had already coagulated, although it still looked wet.

  He felt like it he poked it, hinger finger would sink all the way to his knuckles.

  “If you say so,” Augustin shook his head and looked ahead. Looking at where they were going, he couldn't help asking, “How come they haven't fired another arrow?”

  Zethir frowned. “Don't ask me.”

  “They probably haven't gathered enouh energy,” Marco chimed in. “After all, we're just humans. We can't just spam energy.”

  “Energy… what about you, Marco?” Augustin looked behind him.

  “Me...? I practice arcane, my magic comes from nature… you practice arcane too, don't you?” Marco casted a doubtful look at Augustin.

  “I…”

  “Tsk, quiet. I can sense people ahead,” Zethir butted in. Then, throwing Augustin from his shoulder, he unsheathed his sword.

  Ahead of them, an arrow shone brightly in blue, tearing apart the air as it traveled the air.

  Stolen story; please report.

  A tree on its way tore in half; the upper part falling forward and the other half being uprooted.

  BOOM! BOOM! BOOM—Trees fell one after the other, but the arrow gained more and more momentum instead. Finally, after piercing several trees, Zethir and the others were able to see the arrow.

  Zethir swung his sword—BANG!!!

  “Zethir!” Marco's eyes grew wide, but he was forced to close them a moment later.

  The shockwave threw them off their feet, followed a cloud of dirt that swalowed all three of them whole. Zethir gasped, his arms feeling numb from the impact.

  He managed to cut the arrow in half, making it lose its energy coating. However, the muscles in his arms were nearly mangled!

  “Marco!” Zethir yelled, his eyes glowing a fierce red like two wild torches.

  “On it!” Marco stumbled to his feet, raising his hands to gather energy.

  Dots of energy gathered around his hands like an cloud of fireflies. Then, as he mixed it with his energy, the black and white spots started turning green, and soon it was emitting lime-green steam.

  This was Marco's arcane energy.

  As soon as his arcane energy was ready, Marco's eyes erupted in a fierce emerald glow. Swinging his arms, rocks all around them started to levitate, before gathering around him like a cyclone.

  “Follow me!” Yelled Zethir, who was already far away from the two.

  The second Marco started gathering energy, he already dashed away. Using the trees as footholds, he bulleted in a zigzag, rapidly advancing. And when he yelled, dozens of fist-sized rocks chased after his silhouette.

  “Found you,” Zethir mumbled, jumping from the trunk of another tree. Like a lightning bolt, he flew forward, his eyes trained on the man standing straight with his bow drawn back.

  The arrow cocked in the bow was starting to glow blue, and as soon as Zethir and the bowman locked eyes, the bowman released the string.

  Zethir spun mid-air, dodging the arrow that arrived near instantly—but he was forced to land abruptly. But, like a panther, he pounced on the bowman.

  In the blind of an eye, his sword was inches away from the bowman's neck.

  “Heh,” the bowman scoffed, raising his hand in a blur. Zethir's eyes couldn't help but widen when he saw the bowman's flesh halting his sword mid-way.

  And as his sword ate halfway through the back of the bowman's hand—"Tch,” he used it as an anchor to launch himself back.

  “A warrior?” His eyes narrowed into lines, squinting at the bowman who seemed unfazed.

  The bowman scoffed, patting his now untidy dark-blue uniform. “A blind man?” He taunted, shooting two arrows at Zethir one after the other. Zethir cut both of them expressionlessly.

  Ordinary arrows poses no threat to him, unless he deliberately stood still.

  “Where's the others?” he asked, walking toward the bowman, who fired four more arrows.

  “You're wasting your time~” The bowman sang, a cocky grin splitting the lower-half of his face.

  “Yes,” Zethir nodded. But then, the bowman turned around, frowning at the dozens of rocks shooting toward him.

  “Hehe,” chuckling, the bowman raised a hand and opened his palm. Then, a half-dome of blue energy manifested to shield him.

  “A mage?” Zethir whispered, and finally, the bowman's eyes widened in horror. Zethir was already behind him, breathing down his neck.

  “Ha… Ha…”

  Kneeling, Fernando stabbed his sword on the ground, if nothing just to keep himself upright. His glowing topaz-like eyes was starting to dim, blood drooling down the corner of his lips.

  His body, once adorned in full iron armor, was now covered in blood, the metal plates shattered and on the ground.

  The attack was unexpected—one moment he was standing with his soldiers—and the next he was fighting as one against a dozen elites. His soldiers were killed without seeing their killer.

  “Putui!” He spat blood on the ground, glaring at the nobles approaching him. None of them wore armor, only dark-blue military uniform, and they were all holding a sword.

  “You bastards, you move so slowly,” he grinned, cackling soundlessly, his teeth caked with blood.

  “Hm~ Sir Fernando surely jest~” A whistle came from behind the twelve swordsmen. The twelve spearmen stepped aside, giving way to Lance who leisurely walked toward Fernando.

  Behind him, three bowmen followed.

  “What would your son think~?” Lance placed the tip of his spear under Fernando's chin, using it to raise the latter's head.

  Gritting his teeth, Fernando's eyes glowed fiercely, his blood roaring in defiance. Sadly, he was but a candle with an inch of wax left.

  “My son is none of your business,” he tried to stand, but his knees had turned sloppy.

  Lance hummed. “Well~ Did you ever care for your son? Rumor has it, the honorable sir Fernando is a bastard of a father!” he chuckled.

  Surprisingly, Fernando chuckled with him. “Men thrive in hard times.”

  “Is that so?” A voice trickled into his ears. Fernando's body turned stiff, turning his head to look behind Lance.

  And then behind the bowmen.

  There, a man dressed in a red uniform was calmly walking forward, his topaz-like eyes dim with dismay.

  “I'm disappointed, the Solien are,” the man said, “Father.”